


Arrowheads & Broken Bones

by PixelPax



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Execution, Gen, Minecraft, Minor Violence, Threats of Violence, Ya Dead Ya Dead, ydyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 18:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelPax/pseuds/PixelPax
Summary: The fact of the matter was undeniable: Ryan had killed Gavin.Ryan says it was an accident. Jeremy doesn't believe him.





	Arrowheads & Broken Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Right, first AH fanfic: check! 
> 
> When I watched YDYD, I was suddenly inspired to write a kinda execution-based little one-shot. Nothing big, just something quick and easy :)
> 
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoy!

The storm outside is thunderous.

Just beyond the window, black clouds clog up the horizon, bruising the sky with mottled purples and greys. The storm wails and roars as it batters against their crumbling shelter; not quite loud enough to drown out the sounds of the monsters wailing outside their stone walls.

Inside, Geoff is crying.

His dry, painful sobs are louder than any of the sounds outside, echoing through the sombre silence.

They'd all known that it was only a matter of time. They'd known from the very beginning that they couldn't survive out here, not with monsters breaking down their doors every night. They just hadn't expected it to come so soon.

Lindsay had been the first to go, dragged down and torn apart right before their very eyes. The zombie responsible had lasted no more than a few seconds, still chewing as its head was severed from its body.  

It hadn't mattered though. Even as the creature's head tumbled to the ground and was crushed beneath a cruel furred boot, it hadn't mattered. Even as the thing's decomposing body turned to ash beneath the angry rays of the rising sun, it hadn't made a difference. They had already been too late.

She had died that night, cradled in Michael’s shaking arms with her innards scattered over the forest floor and face torn into a gory smile. And to think that, just a few days before, the whole thing had been a stupid joke.

"Lindsay will totally be the first one to go," Jack had scoffed, laughing. Michael had only sighed, rolling his eyes in patient affection.

"Of course it'll be Lindsay," he had shot back. "Either that or Gavin."

That had then been followed by a couple of offended squawks from Gavin, accompanied by Lindsay's laughter and joking quip of assent. She'd never even tried to defend herself. She'd just grinned that red-cheeked, wide-eyed smile of hers and said: “Ever any doubt?"

And then it had actually happened, and suddenly it wasn't a joke anymore.

Everything was different after that. Smiles had been scarce, laughter even more so. The brief spells of happiness that did surface were fleeting and hollow, a mere echo of what they were once were. Michael was more reserved. He was often found sitting quietly at the base of the tree that had sprouted atop their roof, sharpening the edge of his sword with no light in his eyes.

Every night, death seemed to grow ever closer. Somehow though, they survived. They kept going. They kept fighting.

Until the day Ryan stumbled over the threshold, pale-faced and trembling, with a body hooked over one shoulder. 

A body swaddled in a familiar, creeper-checkered scarf.

\------

They'd known something was wrong the second he'd barged in; Ryan was  _scared_. Not annoyed, not angry but actually _afraid_. He had been shaking, dripping with sweat and rain and blood as he dropped to his knees, cradling the crumpled thing in his arms. The others didn't known how to react, frozen in place as a dark puddle of red dripped seeped across the stone tiles

"I-I didn't mean to- it was just an accident-"

Jeremy already wasn't listening. His eyes traced the blood trail to the pale, sagging figure draped in mottled green. 

"-ease, someone needs to-"

He'd know that scarf anywhere.

"- _please!_ "

Oh, god.

All at once, the room exploded into action. Jack started shouting. Geoff seized Gavin from Ryan's shaky grip and laid the younger man near the fire, using an old cloak for a blanket. Trevor and Alfredo leapt up and immediately rushed to Jack's side, bustling around each other with frightening speed. Michael simply looked on in wide-eyed panic at the ongoing chaos, staring numbly at Gavin's still body. Ryan had been mumbling frantically to himself the whole time, gripping his sleeves and looking somewhere between wanting to rush in to help or turn tail and run.

And Jeremy? Jeremy was stuck on the sidelines, too stunned to do anything but stare. This was actually happening. It wasn't a dream or a nightmare. Gavin had been shot. Gavin was hurt. Gavin could die.

A shout of anger suddenly grabbed his attention and Jeremy couldn't help but start as Geoff darted forwards, gripping Ryan by the shirt and yanking him forwards. The oldest's face was pale and written with panic, expression flickering between anger and fear as chaos raged on behind him.

"Ryan, what the _fuck_ happened out there?"

Ryan only lowered his head, fists clenched at his sides. 

"It... It was just a stupid _joke."_  He bit out the words as if pained, eyes glued stubbornly to the floor. "He wanted me to try and hit him- he thought I wouldn't actually do it... Then-"

He couldn't finish. Jeremy didn't blame him.

A dare. It sounded just like Gavin, of course. Always on about those pointless _what if'_ s and _how would'_ s. He was constantly curious, always on the look out for new outlets of entertainment. He was the type of person who would put two dynamite sticks together just to see how big the explosion would be.

It would make sense that that would eventually be his downfall.

Jack and Trevor had set to work immediately, yanking the arrow from Gavin's taut flesh with a desperate determination. The ever-faithful Alfredo had darted back and forth between them, dodging a stupefied Geoff with growing panic. Together, they'd tried to seal the wound as best they could. They'd tried to stop the bleeding- tried to stop the red from seeping through their make-shift bandages- but nothing had worked. They'd tried their best to save him and yet, they couldn't stop the light from leaving Gavin's eyes, blown out like a candle in the wind.

It was the same. Just like Lindsay. Just like before. It was all just the _fucking_ same. In the end it wouldn't have mattered how much they tried to save him; Ryan's aim had been true.

_They had been too late._

They hadn't gotten the chance to save him. Their supposed 'golden boy' with his dumb, tattered scarf and big, stupid nose. The one who would gift them with odd, non-sensical hypotheticals that not even he could make sense of, then squawk uproariously at the chaos that came from them. That mincy, little _prick_ of a human being who's only ever goal was to torment and tease, who'd make up stupid, senseless words and phrases that would make everyone rant and rage if only for the laughs it would bring.

So now they stand at an impasse.

Ryan is cornered at the edge of the room, looking like a trapped wolf in a cage. Jack has been horrified into silence, face so pale and so shallow that he could have been a ghost. Trevor and Alfredo are stood together near the edge of the room, leaning heavily on each other as their eyes dart from one person to the next. And Michael- poor, broken Michael- looks likes he's about to fall apart at the seams.

Most of all though, there is Geoff.

Their so-called fearless leader is hunched over Gavin's still form, cradling the younger man's head in his lap. Stubby, inked fingers comb through the other's hair, fingers coming back stained with a terrible scarlet. His whole body shakes as if rocked by the storm outside.

"Gavin..." Geoff whimpers and Jeremy feels his heart wrench, "Please, buddy, you need to open your eyes for me. Please? Little buddy?" There is no reply, not even a twitch. Jeremy can see his face from here- pale and terrified, eyes wide and brimming with frightened tears. Geoff lets out a hysterical laugh, "Gavin! Joke's not funny anymore, you prick. You can... Y-You can wake up now."

Nothing happens.

Growing desperate, Geoff grabs Gavin by the shoulders and shakes him, his breaths coming short and sharp as the body's head lolls on it's shoulders like a broken toy. He turns them, expression rife with despair.

"Jack, help me!"

Jack says nothing. He is frozen to the spot, staring numbly at the body in Geoff's arms, bloody medical supplies still spilling from his arms. His head shakes side to side like a snapped branch, silent prayers falling from his moving lips. There are no words left to say anymore.

Geoff hasn't realised it yet- he is still clutching to that fleeting, desperate hope. His eyes grow misty as they flicker over every person in the room. The others stubbornly avoid his gaze, faces deathly pale as they tremble under the truth's heavy weight. Even Michael shies away, tiny tremors shaking him. When his gaze finally lands on Jeremy, he tries to give a wobbly, hopeful smile. Jeremy isn't fooled.

"C'mon, lil' J. All we've gotta do is get this arrow out of him, and he'll be fine! He'll be fine...! Just please, you've gotta help me, okay?" 

But Jeremy can't move. He's stuck, forced to watch as his friend's desperate grimace starts to rip at the seams. There's nothing he can say now, nothing he can give other than his silence. He wants so badly for this to be a bad dream. He wants so badly for Gavin to just sit up with a grin and laugh at all their faces like nothing had ever happened. He wants so badly for this to be some dumb practical joke. But it's not a dream, and it's not a joke.

Geoff is starting to realise it too. His eyes are darting all over, searching for someone to give him something to latch onto but there is nothing for them to give. He turns back to the thing still cradled in his arms and his lip starts to quiver. The room is overtaken by an empty silence as Geoff just falls apart before their very eyes. He bends over Gavin's limp body, burying his face into the other's hair and giving a distraught wail. His chest heaves with every choked gasp he gives, wretched tears pouring down his cheeks and turning his expression ugly and red.

The rest of the room has been numbed into a stunned, static silence. The reality of the situation is beginning to sink in: Gavin is gone. Gavin is gone and there is nothing that can bring him back.

Gavin with his big, cheeky grin and tattered green scarf. Gavin with his bird-noises, and made-up words and stupid 'million dollar' questions. Gavin with his indescribable talent of being able to cause chaos wherever he went.

Jeremy knows he should feel sad. He should be crying or screaming or _something._ But there is another emotion now, pressing down on him like an overbearing weight. It leaves him breathless, rattling through his skeleton and staining his vision with scarlet. 

He is no stranger to anger. 

Sometimes it's a frustration that boils down to something ugly in his stomach that gnaws through him like a rabid wild animal. Other times it's that white-hot irritation that makes his head feel hot and heavy, that pulse in his vision and tears through his veins like liquid gasoline. Sometimes though, even rarer than that, its that hot feeling of resentment that often accompanies embarrassment, the one that scalds his face scarlet with shame and anger, the one that shudders violently in his chest.

But this? This is a new kind of anger. This isn't blistering, or raging, or furious. It's not hot, or dizzying, or heady. Actually it's cold, like someone just dumped a whole box of ice cubes down the back of his shirt. It's freezing but it burns with an intensity he doesn't expect, numbing his skin. The only thing he still feels is the throbbing emptiness deep inside his chest, seeping through his veins like poison in a wound. 

This isn't fire, it's _ice_. 

And Jeremy seethes with it.

It happens fast, so fast that it takes even Jeremy a few seconds for his mind to catch up with his body. So fast, in fact, that no-one else seems to have enough time to react. He whips around and grabs at the bow strung over his chest, ripping it from off of his shoulder. He yanks an arrow from the quiver and slams it into place, lifting his arms so that the arrow tip is pointed straight and true, directly at Ryan's forehead.

The bow bends backwards, the string pulls taught, and the room goes deadly silent. 

Ryan, for what it's worth, doesn’t seem scared. The emotion that does flash across his expression is pain, fleeting but somewhat surprising in it's vivacity. Then, just as quickly as it appears, it fades away again. It's a testament to his conviction when he simply swallows and steels himself, rising to his full height as he stares down the crooked arrow shaft. His eyes are glassy, rife with confusion and doubt and uncertainty- but not fear.

"I don't think you want to do this, Jeremy," he says carefully, jaw clenched. "You're not thinking straight, and you know it." Jeremy doesn't want to listen. He snarls and takes a step forward, bow creaking in his grasp and fire burning in his gaze. Ryan instantly flinches back, hands rushing to his head in surrender, eyes pitifully wide.

The tension in the air now is so palpable that the room's occupants feel the hairs on their arms stand up. There is a moment where no one- not even Jeremy- knows what's going to happen next. Then, something in Ryan's expression crumples.

"You're my friend, Jeremy," he murmurs, "I don't want to hurt you and I know you don't want to hurt me." The tremble to his voice is gone and he sounds almost painfully sure, like he really is convinced. His arms drop to his sides, and he takes a step forward, ignoring Jeremy's hiss of warning. "Please, Jeremy. It was an accident, I swear."

Something in his voice makes it almost seem as if he really is remorseful. The tremble in his arms is genuine, as is the growing panic in his gaze, but something still seems off. As if something wasn't quite adding up. 

The problem is that Jeremy and Ryan are a little too similar. Too many times had Geoff found them wreaking havoc in the tavern down the road, sweating like pigs and grinning maniacally as they revelled in the rush of the fight. Too many times had they found themselves charging head-first into hordes of bloodthirsty mobs, only to emerge unharmed with shared, eager grins splitting their faces.

Jeremy is all about the feeling- raw, heat-of-the-moment movements that he can use to strike down an opponent. He loves the thrill of balled fists and frantic kicks, the click of bones against knuckles and the thud of a body hitting the floor. Ryan is the methodical one, the logical one. He attacks with a vicious preciseness that's oddly beautiful in it's fluidity. To Ryan, it's all about the jagged metal digging through flesh, of blood dripping from slashed wounds and bones snapping under fingertips.

Jeremy is the bruises but Ryan is the blood.

So no, Jeremy doesn't believe that this was an accident. Not just because they are one and the same, but also because, in many other ways, they are oh-so-painfully different.

How many times had Ryan just wandered out into the darkness of the night, only to return home caked in all sorts of dark, nameless substances? How many times had Jeremy watched him wash the crusted crimson from his knuckles, expression dark with something sinister- a devilish smirk of honest satisfaction? It was easy to assume things of course- Ryan always did have a thing for the dramatic- but there was always that little nugget of doubt. There was always that little chill of apprehension that would turn Jeremy's stomach when he saw the glint in Ryan's eyes. And now, from the depths of his chest, that little wave of uncertainty was growing.

Ryan had said it was just an accident. He had said that he didn't mean to do it. He sounded so sure and shaken when he said it. But then, why is it that Jeremy doesn't believe him? 

In the end, he supposed, it didn't really matter. In the end, it wouldn't make a difference whether he believed what Ryan was spewing or not, the truth was still there: Gavin was dead and Ryan was the one who killed him. Ryan had purposefully shot at Gavin for nothing more than his own stupid pride- and Gavin had paid the price. This was all Ryan's fault. He had _wanted_ this to happen.

Ryan had _killed_ Gavin.

Jeremy can almost pinpoint the exact moment he feels himself begin to snap. His teeth clench together and his nails dig into the skin of his palms, his eyebrows pinching in anger. His near-permanent smile- normally so enthusiastic and eager- tears straight in two, now marred with an enraged snarl. His molten gaze is forged into matching pools of shaking, terrible fury as he advances upon his old partner. 

"Jeremy, _please_ -"

"You killed him. You fucking _killed_ him, you son of a bitch," Jeremy seethes, arms shaking. His vision is one big pool of red now, mixing with the red that seeps through the floor. It pounds in his ears like a war drum, so loud that he can barely hear himself think.

"Jeremy..." Ryan speaks softly, carefully, like he's trying to placate a wild animal. His voice shakes, face drawn of any colour save for the vicious red that splatters his cheeks. "Gods, I am... I am so, _so_ sorry. Please, I didn't mean for this to happen-"

Jeremy's fingers tighten on the bow. "You never do."

He hears Ryan's breath hitch and knows that he should stop before he does something he regrets... but he can't find it in himself to care. The grief has settled in his chest. A solid stone of aching anguish sinks in his gut and rubs his eyes raw and red.

"...Jeremy."

It's Michael. The other man steps forwards, face pale beneath the smudged colours of his war paint. His furs are matted with blood and gore, diamond sword abandoned and tattooed chest bared to the open air. There's a couple of nasty scars stretched across his front like tribal tattoos. His skin glistens with sweat. He looks as though the air has been knocked out of him but he isn't out of breath.

In fact, he looks so much older than Jeremy has ever seen him and the fire that normally shines so brightly in his eyes seems to have finally flickered out. Lindsay and then Gavin... The losses have taken their toll.

"I- Lindsay-" Michael can't finish, fighting for words he can't bring himself to say. He looks so vulnerable, so unsure, like the world has been wrenched out from beneath his feet and he's still trying to find solid ground.

Then, like a switch has been flicked, something instantly changes. Michael's teeth clench together and he bows his head. His fingers itch towards his back, reaching for a sword that's not there before dropping limply to his side. When his eyes lift again, they are _burning_ and Jeremy shivers under their blistering intensity. 

"Do it, Jeremy," he hisses venomously, "Fucking _do it_."

The order is quiet and controlled, deadly in its delivery, and that's when Jeremy _knows_. He's seen Michael angry of course- everyone's seen Michael angry- but he's never seen him like  _this_. This isn't anger, or grief, or anguish- it's hatred. Pure, unadulterated _loathing._  If Jeremy doesn't kill Ryan, than Michael will do it without hesitation.

Jeremy doesn't know what to do. The anger in his chest bridles and claws at his insides fighting for release- but his fingers refuse to move. He grits his teeth, pulling the arrow even further back even as his shoulders scream at him to stop, but the arrow does not fly.

Michael sees him hesitation and growls darkly. "Jeremy, this motherfucker _killed_ Gavin. He's a danger to all of us. Just fucking kill him."

"No!" Another voice has joined the fray, just desperate enough to grab Jeremy's attention.

God, Jack looks so tired. Black shadows teem beneath his eyes, tangling with the stray tears that spill down his cheeks. His glasses are clouded and cracked and it is obvious how hard he's trying to keep himself together. He too seems to have aged a century, eyes flashing with the same pain that echoes in Geoff’s empty cries.

He heaves a slow breath. "Jeremy, please don't do this. We've already lost Gavin, we don't need to lose anyone else." It's a warning as much as it is a plea, and that's when Jeremy feels the doubt begin to seep in.

"Jack..." He pauses, mouth dry, "He killed Gavin."

Jack only gazes at him sadly. "I know."

Once again, everything is quiet. Michael, once heaving in anger, is now swallowing back his own sobs of disbelief. The warrior's knees slip out beneath him and he collapses to the floor with a dull thud. His lips are moving but barely any sound leaves them, only half-breathed prayers of: "Please... God, _please_..."  Geoff's cries are muffled now, his head buried in Gavin's still chest as he cradles the younger man in his lap. Alfredo and Trevor seem too stunned to move, hands still tangled in blood-spattered bandages as they look on in utter helplessness. Jack is completely silent, tears slipping down his cheeks as he stares Jeremy down. And Ryan- poor, rain-soaked Ryan- does nothing but stand there like a bloody ghost in the dark, eyes blown wide open.

Jeremy's arms are burning now, shaking with the effort needed to keep the arrow back. His shoulders ache and his throat burns with bile but he doesn't let up. His thoughts are louder than ever. Nothing is going to be the same after this.

"Jack, Geoff, I-" Jeremy stops to take a breath, "Ryan... I'm sorry."

The bow creaks in his grasp and everything descends into chaos.

Jack must see the resolve dawn in his eyes because the next thing Jeremy knows, the larger man is jumping forwards, a cry on his lips and an arm outstretched. He gives out a yell as he grabs Jeremy by the back of his shirt, hauling him backwards and out of the way with one big swing. Instantly, Jeremy lets out a startled cry and responds instinctively, ramming his head backwards and sending the other man crashing to the floor. His head rings from the force of it but he pushes himself forwards, tearing himself out of Jack's grip. Vaguely, Jeremy hears Trevor and Alfredo rushing forwards to stop him,m but they don't get more than a few feet before Michael intervenes, his teeth grit in a terrible, animalistic snarl.

"Stay the fuck back, assholes!"

Jack is shouting something inaudible, scrambling to his feet and getting ready for another charge. Jeremy's too quick though; he kicks Jack in the stomach, sending the other man sprawling once more. From the corner of his eye, he sees Michael roaring as he holds back the twins, watches Jack tumble to the floor with a cry. He sees Geoff snap back to reality and look up from his position on the floor, eyes wild and cheeks ruddy with tears. 

Jeremy loads the arrow once more, yanking back the string and steadying his aim.

The torches flicker menacingly, throwing dancing shadows across the room to glint across the growing puddle of blood. The storm rages on outside, rain crashing against the window and thunder crackling overhead. From between the cracks in Geoff's shaking arms, Jeremy glimpses a shred of pale flesh and glassy green eyes. 

His eyes start to blur around the edges.

Ryan doesn't run, doesn't cry, doesn't beg for forgiveness. He doesn't try to fight back or even defend himself. Instead, he only bows his head, clutching that familiar, dark-stained scarf to his chest with trembling hands. Not fear, but acceptance.

"I am so sorry," he murmurs and his eyes slide shut.

Jeremy grits his teeth and lets the arrow fly.


End file.
